


Because a Path

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Character Study, Chocolate Box 2019, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-23 14:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17685479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith





	Because a Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



The pub's the usual crowded with the Friday night punters Bod greatly wishes would leave the premises and him alone with his pint. Their petty noises are not so much the trouble as their incessant need to try to coax him into unnecessary conversation. Bod wants to not be Seen so badly at such times that he briefly considers trying to just... Not Be There.

Technically, he should not try anything of the sort. And, really, it would't work. Won't work. The time for that has passed and he's a different person now. But he wants it anyway. Bod wants a lot of things.

He sips his lukewarm slosh and wishes for childhood winds and an overgrown hill with mangled headstones peeking through the foliage.

Pub on Friday night is normal and safe for him. He wants to be normal and safe. And to maybe fit in, though mostly just inside his own head. There's all this room there he wants to fill with his normality until it's crowded like this room. The better to pick out the moments that matter among the bustle. Like a beacon, his life shining bright.

When he's done he leaves the money neatly by his empty glass and shuffles out into the night. He exits the pub between merry Friday nighters who push against him. He battles the current of movement into the pub until he's outside it. The shadows just off-centre from the pub's door envelop him, as does Silas's cold hand. Just a moment of no touch and then a hand in his.

Silas doesn't like crowds either. Probably for other reasons than Bod. He likes Bod enough to wait for him, though. Waited for him.

A swift wind blows Bod's fringe into his eyes and he feels the crunch of a well-worn, comfortable path beneath his feet. He knows this path.


End file.
